


You Go, I Go

by andrewiel



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Punk, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love, lmao they're supposed to be 'punk' but what is that, soft bois in luv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 05:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16948332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrewiel/pseuds/andrewiel
Summary: Neil gets asked to prom. Andrew is more oblivious than he thinks.(Anonymous on tumblr requested: punk!andreil going to prom!)





	You Go, I Go

**Author's Note:**

> HEY PALS!! 
> 
> I am raising money for my dear, sweet kitten, Mr. Shakedown and his vet expenses! In order to spread awareness of his Gofundme, I'm taking prompts on tumblr and writing them! Doesn't matter if you can't donate, if you spread the word or take the time to read a lil about my baby, you get a fic and you get a fic and you get a fic! But please, if you have the means to give, Mr. Shakedown deserves all the help him and his lil bum can get. 
> 
> So prompt away at [jostenminyard](http://jostenminyard.tumblr.com). No limits!
> 
> **  
>  [Read more on Tumblr about Mr. Shakedown's Gofundme ❤️](http://jostenminyard.tumblr.com/post/180990893806/click-here-to-support-mr-shakedowns-veterinary) **
> 
> **Sorry if this is shit or OOC. wtf is punk. I just thought I'd write some cute mutual pining with a lil happy ending from two tuff boys with hearts of gold.**

Foolish boy.

An idiot, really, for a boy who prides himself on his harsh demeanour, with his black hair and blue eyes and denim vest that he jacked from the thrift store. He looks tough. He could be tough.

Andrew might believe him to be tough, if it weren’t for the influx of prom invitations extended his way.

At lunch, Becca from their math class approached them, all shy smiles and nervous fidgeting, a lock of her hair twirled around one finger. She cleared her throat once, twice, before Andrew finally sighed and kicked Neil in the shin to get his attention.

“Um, hi,” Becca said, blushing. “Can I, uh, talk to you . . . Neil?”

Neil had frowned, confused as always whenever a girl approaches him. “Why?”

And, obviously not expecting such a blunt response, Becca had stuttered and stammered her way through an awkward and oblivious prom proposal.

The girl had balls, sure, Andrew will give her that, for she did what he could not and can never do.

But it didn’t matter because it doesn’t matter - Neil doesn’t swing, as he’s said so many times, to so many people, to Andrew himself.

Becca left with nothing but a sad smile and a peace sign from Neil, and not a yes like she had hoped/Andrew had hoped against.

Neil is an idiot, because while it is clear as day why so many people have asked him to prom, it isn’t clear to Neil.

It’s as if Neil has never looked in a mirror before.

The idiot.

After class, they sit on the bleachers, enjoying the transition from winter to spring air, sharing a cigarette and watching the embarrassment of a cheer team finish their practice as the even more embarrassing Exy team comes out to begin theirs, the stadium having been converted for the Exy season.

Embarrassing all around. Nearly as embarrassing as Melissa and Katelyn, approaching them hand in hand, giggling and whispering to each other as they make their dangerous way closer.

Neil has his eyes closed, head on Andrew’s lap, none the wiser to the impending annoyance. Andrew stands guard, keeping his eyes cool and concentrated on the two cheerleaders. They falter once they meet Andrew’s gaze, before Katelyn finally nudges Melissa forward with a smile.

“Hey, Andrew,” Melissa says, only knowing his name because of his brother. Talk about another annoyance. “Can I talk to Neil? Like, alone?”

Andrew shrugs one shoulder and removes the cigarette from between his lips. “Why bother? Do you get off on being shut down?”

“Uh.” She fidgets with the hem of her skirt. “Whatever, can you just -”

“Fine,” Andrew sighs, flicking his cigarette away and nudging Neil’s head. “Josten, get up. You’ve got yet another prom invite.”

“Hey!” Melissa shouts at him, flushed red now, waving him away furiously as he stands and bounds down the bleachers.

He only turns around to see Neil sitting up, rubbing his head all sheepish and attractive, so annoying. He grins when he sees Melissa, and Andrew’s heart freezes up, thinking, wondering, hoping -

He busies himself with kicking a rock around, aiming it at the plexiglass, hoping to crack it or break it.

He hears footsteps on the bleachers after a while, the metal ringing with each footstep.

“Andrew,” Neil says, and Andrew turns around, not sure what to expect. “Drive me home?”

There is no one else around. Just Neil, with his hands shoved into his pockets, his chin lowered and his expression flustered.

Andrew wants to ask, but like many things he wants to do, he doesn’t.

-

Andrew sits on the counter as his family sits at the table for dinner. Nicky is no chef, but he makes decent pasta, which is the only reason Andrew keeps him around.

Aaron, for once, is more chatty than usual, offering more to the dinner time conversation than grunts and nods. Of course it’s about prom, because prom was invented as yet another torture device for Andrew.

“Katelyn says we have to match, but her dress is made entirely of sparkles,” Aaron complains, holding his phone to Nicky’s face in exasperation. “How do I match sparkles?”

“By _wearing_ sparkles, you oblivious fool!” Nicky scolds him while taking Aaron’s phone into his hands to zoom in. “What she sees in you, I do not know.”

“Fuck you,” Aaron spits, grabbing his phone back. “I’m not the one you should be lecturing.”

“No,” Andrew says flatly, holding up his middle finger to his brother first and then a confused Nicky. “This road we’re on? We don’t go down it.”

“What road? What? Aaron, tell me!”

“Mr. Goth over there and his little boyfriend,” Aaron says accusingly, a cocky sneer on his face. “Neil won’t say yes to any girl who asks him to prom, and _I’m_ the one who never hears the end of it. He turned down Melissa, Nicky. Melissa!”

Andrew goes still, but dares not to show it.

So he said no.

Nicky gasps, as if he has any fucking clue what that name means. “Say it isn’t so!” He looks at Andrew, unimpressed as ever, and quirks a brow. “But what’s that have to do with you?”

“Beats me.”

“Bullshit,” Aaron says, annoyed. “Anyone with eyes can see the hearts in his for you.”

“Ha,” Andrew says dryly, going back to his pasta, not wanting to care about this conversation because it doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t, it can’t. “Neil doesn’t swing. Haven’t you heard?”

“Well someone is lying, that’s for sure.”

Andrew gives him the finger, and flicks a pasta noodle at him for good measure. “He doesn’t like me, so drop it.”

“Then why doesn’t he have a date for prom yet?”

“Maybe because Neil and I aren’t interested in attending your little heterosexual cash-grab scheme.”

“Oh whatever,” Aaron sighs, giving Andrew the finger back. “You two are perfect for each other.”

But the thing is, they aren’t.

-

And so, after passing through the halls with Neil at his side and seeing at least two different girls smile at him - and not an innocent smile, far from it - Andrew thinks, and makes a bet with himself before making a bet with Neil.

Neil opens his locker as Andrew leans against the locker next to his, blocking it from whatever poor kid will need his textbooks in two minutes.

“Proposition for you,” Andrew says, removing the sucker from his mouth with a pop.

Neil quirks a brow. “Okay?”

“Tell Melissa you’ll go to the prom with her.”

“Uh -”

“And I’ll do all of your history readings until the end of the year.”

“Ha!” Neil shouts, pulling out said history textbook and thumping it against Andrew’s chest. “As if. You haven’t been to history in a month.”

Andrew taps two fingers to his temple with his free hand. “Don’t need to, remember?”

Neil groans and roll his eyes, as if actually remembering how much Andrew can remember. “I told you I hate when you pull that card.”

“It isn’t a card. It’s the truth.”

“Why though? Why Melissa?”

Andrew shrugs, sticking the sucker back in his mouth as he pretends to think. “Because deep down you want to go.”

“Right . . .”

“All these girls asking you, you must like one of them.”

Neil frowns for a moment, quickly replaced by one of his sympathetic smiles. “I don’t know, actually.”

“Then go. Find out.”

“Alright, fine,” Neil says after a long moment. “But you’re going too.”

Andrew’s eyes widen in shock, genuine shock, before resuming their narrow glare. “Ah, ah, ah. I’m doing your history homework, correct?”

“Not a fair deal, and you know it.”

“Who said anything about fair?” he asks, and gives the kid trying to get into his locker a sharp look, silently telling him to piss off.

“Andrew,” Neil says in that voice of his - the voice that makes Andrew go quiet and actually think, the voice that reaches through his chest and shows him what it’s like to feel and _want_. “You’re going, or else I’m not going.”

Andrew sighs, before an evil sort of idea takes over, and his lips take on the form of a smirk.

“Fine, but I’ll be choosing what you wear.”

Neil throws his head back and laughs. “You already pick out what I wear!”

And it’s not an unfair accusation, given that the jacket Neil’s wearing is actually Andrew’s; black and leather, and a little too big on Neil’s smaller arms.

Andrew’s smirk only sharpens.

“ _Nicky_ chooses your outfit.”

Neil’s blue eyes go wide at that, his head already shaking. “N-”

“Ah, how is that for fair?” Andrew asks, pointing his sucker like a weapon at Neil. “That’s what I thought.”

He finally lets the kid get into his locker, and as he walks away, he hears both the kid and Neil call him an asshole.

-

Andrew usually feels out of place, what with the piercings and the dye and the leather, but the difference is made even more apparent when he’s standing next to his suit-clad brother. Not a soul would believe they were twins, not with Aaron in his stuffy suit and bowtie, with a stupid little flower pinned to his lapel.

Also, the stupid idiot won’t stop grinning.

Once finding out that Andrew was going to prom, as well as Neil and Melissa, Aaron roped them into renting the limousine. Andrew only said yes if Nicky agreed to supply them with booze, which he did, but even so . . . regret isn’t a common or welcomed feeling for Andrew, but it grows dark and heavy in his chest as he waits for Neil to show up.

“Pity we aren’t the same size,” Nicky says with a heavy sigh, leaning against the staircase banister as he looks Andrew up and down. “You would clean up well in a suit. Neil sure did. That boy is fi-”

“Are you in the business of wanting to lose your tongue?” Andrew asks, adjusting the roll of his jacket sleeve; denim and ripped and studded, looking far older than it truly is. “Don’t talk about Neil.”

“Alright, but wait until you see him!” Nicky sings, and runs off before Andrew can hurt him.

The front door opens then, no knock or ring, as it’s never needed when it’s Neil. He has a key, a key that Andrew suspects he’s used more times than the key to his own place. Which is why Andrew gave it to him.

Andrew takes a measured breath, allowing the reactions of Aaron and Katelyn and Nicky to take place first before he finally bears it; Aaron holds on tighter to Katelyn as Katelyn lets out a yelp and a cry and a laugh, while Nicky starts a slow clap, dramatic as always.

But when Andrew looks up, he almost thinks it’s called for, because Neil looks -

Oh, fuck. Unfair it was, this decision, because Neil looks like everything Andrew wants. His black hair has been cut and parted to the side, all the long pieces tucked back, his eyes clear of eyeshadow for once, not a smudge in sight.

His suit is fitted and sleek, black enough that Neil’s tanned skin sits cool in comparison. His tie is silver, likely to match the dress of -

What an idiot.

Not Neil, for once, but Andrew, himself, because he thought he would be proving something - that Neil did like someone, that Neil didn’t like anyone, that Neil might like him - and he was right to think that.

He was just wrong about everything else, because his heart is beating harder than it should, and he can’t form the words he needs to say when Neil finally looks at him.

If anything, he only proved how much he . . . how much . . .

“I hate you,” Neil says when they meet eyes, a pout on his lips. “Don’t forget, I’m good at holding grudges, and I will remember this.”

Andrew clicks his tongue as he walks down the rest of the stairs, glad the creak of the floorboards cover up his erratic heart. “Photographic memory, Josten,” Andrew says, his voice thankfully normal. “So don’t worry, I’ll remember this, too.”

Unfortunately.

This image will be what he dies with.

Neil sticks his pierced tongue out at him, and Andrew wishes he were allowed to kiss him.

-

Andrew pours another shot as Melissa and Katelyn take over the limo’s music. He sits away from the group, watching with the cautious gaze he always looks over his family with, measuring with his eyes every shot Aaron and Neil take, just in case.

Melissa’s dress is silver, and it matches Neil’s tie so perfectly that Andrew might have to cut a slice or two out of Nicky to make him pay for it. That’s what he gets though, for letting Nicky make any decision regarding Neil.

Neil keeps giving him looks; a roll of eyes at a certain song or unfunny joke, a heated glare whenever he seems to remember that Andrew is the reason for his current predicament, or a soft look, unguarded yet unsure, as if he isn’t even aware he’s looking at Andrew that way.

Andrew never looks away from him.

Neil nods along to whatever Melissa says to him, laughs when everyone else laughs, and allows Melissa’s hand on his thigh for the duration of the ride, but not once does he put a hand on her.

It’s hard to tell what Neil thinks of the girl, when he isn’t acting how he usually acts with everyone who isn’t Andrew. Instead he acts like something unknown; he’s polite, for a foul-mouthed, sarcastic bastard, and engaging, for a boy who rarely gives others a reason to approach him.

Does he, then? Like her?

Because he laughs and he lets her hand on him and maybe it’s nothing, but for Neil that’s something.

All too soon they arrive at the venue, everyone downing one more shot before exiting the limo to join the other overdressed masses. Andrew notes the security at the front door, patting every student down before they’re allowed to enter. He left his knives at home for just this reason, but the thought of hands on him, the hands of strangers, invading and unwanted . . .

Oh, to be ‘normal’. To just not fucking care.

He cares about so little, why not this, too?

“Hey,” Neil says, suddenly in front of him. “Want me to go first?”

Andrew looks at him in confusion, before realizing that the rest of their group has already moved to join the line, and his feet have yet to leave the curb.

“Whatever,” Andrew mumbles, but allows Neil to tug on his sleeve and lead him to the lineup, where Neil does go first. And it helps.

He feels some semblance of control, knowing if they tried anything on Neil he could step in and stop it, of knowing where they’ll touch and for how long. Knowing that Neil is on the other side, doing the same thing for him in return, watching and knowing.

He finally exhales once inside, but his muscles don’t stop from clenching until he feels warm skin against his cool hand, so familiar and wanted.

Still, he brushes Neil off, because he’s not here with Neil.

Neil only looks hurt for a fraction of a second before accepting it - because he gets it, he always fucking gets it - and moving on inside with Melissa.

Andrew keeps guard of the table for the most part, not that he gives a shit - and takes a fiver out of Katelyn’s purse to prove just that - while he watches every other body dance and sing and live.

Aaron is smart enough to stay along the edges of the crowd, but Neil and Melissa have blended into the rest.

For the best, because the image Andrew conjures up of the two of them together and touching has his skin crawling and his heartbeat thumping.

He asked for this, though, and so he can’t get mad. So self-destructive . . .

Finally, after the millionth similar-sounding song, he pulls his cigarette pack free from his inner pocket and tucks a smoke behind his ear before heading for the exit. Outside is eerily quiet, compared to the cacophony of inside. The evening air is blessedly warm on his skin. The good kind of warm. Like Neil.

He didn’t learn what he had hoped he’d learn tonight.

Instead he gave himself another reminder of how stupid he can be.

Despite all their similarities and their perfect differences, they will never be . . . that.

Which isn’t what he wanted to know, but perhaps it was time he finally learned it. Now he just has to remember it.

“Uh-uh,” a voice comes from behind him, and then suddenly right beside him. “You can’t sneak out without warning me first.”

Andrew doesn’t bother glancing at Neil as Neil crouches down beside him, instead focussing on tapping the ash off his cigarette.

“Didn’t think you’d notice.”

“You’re the reason I’m here,” Neil says, so matter-of-factly. “Of course I noticed.”

Neil’s hair is a tousled mess now, his tie loosened around his neck. He smells of perfume and sweat, not cigarette smoke and Andrew.

“Hm.”

Neil sighs before rearranging himself so he’s sitting on the curb beside Andrew, reaching over to take the cigarette from his fingers. Andrew lets him, because there are so few things he won’t let Neil do.

“Why did you want me to come so bad?” Neil asks quietly, curiously, his fingers doing that nervous fidgeting of his around the cigarette.

Andrew graces Neil with a cold look, as if the answer is as obvious as air.

“You like her.”

“Who? Melissa?” Neil asks, the furrow of his brow breaking up his perfect face. “Uh, she’s alright, I guess? For a cheerleader? I don’t . . . I don’t know what you mean.”

“You said you didn’t know if you liked any of them,” Andrew says, harsher, still watching Neil with cool eyes, burned out of hope. “I’m just helping you figure it out.”

Then, despite his strange clothes and his clear face, that infuriating fire sparks behind Neil’s eyes, making him recognizable all at once.

“You helped me figure it out? You?” Neil asks in disbelief, eyes narrowed solely on Andrew. “You know . . . you know there’s a reason I said no to her, right? No to everyone else?”

Andrew takes the cigarette back from Neil and finishes the last drag of it before asking, slowly, “And that is?”

Then Neil’s fire goes out, all that’s left the smoke from the cigarette, rising up into silent air. He looks around and tries to fidget with the cuffs of his suit before realizing he can’t - the arms aren’t long enough.

He looks at Andrew and shrugs, so small.

“I was waiting, for somebody else to ask me. They never did.”

Andrew stills, not even able to flick the cigarette away from them, not even able to think or blink or hear or understand.

He swallows roughly, hoping the words will find their way out then. They don’t.

“You say no so easily,” Andrew says eventually, his throat aching. “Why would you ever say yes?”

Neil leans in, hooking his fingers underneath the cuff of Andrew’s sleeve, toying at a loose thread that’s been there for ages.

“Because,” Neil says, and his face is right there, and his lips are even closer, and it would be so easy to not be apart at all anymore. “You go, I go. Right?”

Andrew realizes then that Neil was never not recognizable tonight.

Andrew just didn’t know how to see him, in the way that Neil had wanted to be seen.

“Yeah,” Andrew answers, and wishes he had just asked. “You go, I go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, remember to send in a prompt if you have one, and donate if you can to Mr. Shakedown!! Happy holidays everyone!
> 
>   **  
> **  
> [Read more on Tumblr about Mr. Shakedown's Gofundme ❤️](http://jostenminyard.tumblr.com/post/180990893806/click-here-to-support-mr-shakedowns-veterinary)  
> 


End file.
